The Short-Story Speedwriting Challenge
by konarciq
Summary: In order to raise funds, the Winter Relief Fund has issued a story writing contest for the Allied POW's. But why would the prisoners sponsor the German soldiers at the Russian front? So Hogan challenges Klink in return: get the guards to write stories for the USO!


**The Short-Story Speedwriting Challenge**

.

As usual, Hogan breezed into Klink's office without knocking. "Morning, Kommandant. You wanted to see me?"

"Ah, Hogan. Yes. Please, have a seat." Klink shuffled his papers aside, and instantly jerked half upright to grab Hogan's cap from his spiked helmet and toss it back at his senior POW.

Hogan didn't bat an eyelid. "So what's up?"

"Colonel Hogan." Klink leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in a deliberately pensive way. "Would you not say that one of the greatest things in the military is the camaraderie that springs up between men in the field? Camaraderie born from braving danger together?"

Hogan smirked. "Sure. That's why the prisoners get on so well together. They have to brave that awful sawdust bread every day. I tell you – that is an act of bravery: going out there to the mess hall twice a day for..."

"I'm not talking about food, Hogan. I'm talking about real hardship."

"And you consider having to eat bread made of sawdust no hardship?"

"No." Klink seemed to mentally regroup. "I'm talking about braving the elements together, about.."

"Oh, talking of elements: the roof of barracks 8 is practically a sieve. Those guys are really suffering hardship nowadays."

"I'll look into that. But that wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about."

"What was it you wanted to talk about then?"

"The Winter Relief Fund."

A grin from Hogan. "You want us to set up the Stalag 13 Casino again."

"No." A deep breath. "I'm not chairman of the local committee this year. But I have received this letter from the national organization. They are holding a contest this year to raise some extra money for the good cause."

Hogan's eyebrows shot up. "A contest? Of what? The most escape proof POW camp? Don't worry, Kommandant – you'll win that hands down."

Klink beamed. "Of course I would. But no. Though it does involve you and your men."

"How so?" Hogan became instantly suspicious.

And Klink took a paper from the small pile on his desk, unfolded it, and said, "The Winter Relief Fund is promoting a story writing contest this year among the POW's in Germany. The prisoners, who are just idling their time away anyway, are to..."

"We're not idling our time away – we're awfully busy!" Hogan protested. "What about our ceramics class and our woodwork class and our basketweaving class and...?"

"Hogan, just listen."

Hogan demurred, and Klink continued. "The prisoners are to be provided with paper and pencils, and encouraged to write one or more stories in the upcoming two weeks. The stories have to begin with one of these lines." Klink looked up. "I'll give you those later."

Hogan grimaced. "Oh, swell. When did we decide that we're actually going to do this?"

"That decision was already made before you came in. Because for every story submitted by an Allied prisoner of war, the German Literary Fund is going to donate five reichsmark to the Winter Relief Fund. And I'm sure that in the spirit of your Hands Across the Sea, you will cooperate to help your fellow soldiers at the Russian front through the long and cold winter."

"No way." Hogan shook his head. "Now if it was the USO, that would be a different kettle of fish. But I'm not going to sponsor you Huns in your pointless quest to conquer Stalingrad. And neither are the men under my command. In case you hadn't noticed, Kommandant – we want you guys to _lose_ the war!"

"We will. I mean..." Klink turned scarlet with embarrassment as Hogan sniggered at his slip of the tongue.

"Now that's the spirit. Why don't we just arrange it between the two of us? You could surrender to me now, and..."

"Hogannn!"

"Well, then your guys could come home and you wouldn't need a Winter Relief Fund anymore. Everybody happy, right?"

"Wrong. Hogan, I am ordering you and your men to participate in this tournament."

"Forget it. Not unless you also order your own men to participate as well, and donate five reichsmark to the USO for every story they send in."

Klink sat stockstill. "You know, Hogan, that is an excellent idea! That way we're promoting brotherly camaraderie to both sides of the war!"

"On one condition," Hogan quickly improvised. "We make it a campwide contest between the Allies and the Germans. To make it a bit of a competition. More exciting, you know? So if the prisoners send in more stories than the guards, then _you_ will have to donate five reichsmark per story to the USO as well. And if the guards send in more stories than the prisoners, then I will personally donate five reichsmark per story to the Winter Relief Fund." _Sure bet – there are some ten times more prisoners than guards in this camp. And that way, the USO will end up on top for sure._

"Deal!" Klink said. _Even if I have to write a hundred stories myself, but this is a bet I'm going to win!_

"Alright." Hogan grinned. "So what are those lines we had to start with? And what are the rules?"

"It's fairly simple," Klink explained. "_**You have two weeks (starting today) to write as many stories as you wish, starting with one of the following lines.**_" He handed Hogan the sheet, and Hogan quickly perused through it.

* * *

**1) Do you ever think before opening a door?**

**2) "Do you have some diapers for me?" I asked the lady behind the counter.**

**3) "I've looked up the timetable, and there's a grand total of two trains a day going to #Molenbeek#."**

**4) Millionaires have gone out of fashion.**

**5) No one knows exactly how it started.**

**6) Of course there are people who don't believe in fairy tales – the fools.**

**7) The adventure began with a very average mission, routine, everyday stuff.**

**8) The two little boats were rocking in the shades, tied to the small pier that jutted out from the garden.**

**9) "Tomorrow," #the Sultan# said as he expertly dealt the cards, "Tomorrow is Saturday."**

**10) You'll see, this is not at all what you expect.**

* _Words in between # can be replaced with whatever name is suitable for your story._

* * *

"Alright," Hogan said. "We'd better copy these so they can circulate among the men. And your men. And how long do these stories need to be? And when is the deadline?"

Klink checked his papers again. "_**All stories have to be handed in on Saturday, May 25th.**_ That's two weeks from today. And they have to be... let me see. _**Between 1000 and 4500 words long.**_" He frowned. "That's going to be some job – counting all the words in all those stories, to see if they fit the parameters."

Hogan shrugged. "Well, you're the bookkeeper."

Klink gave him an annoyed glare. "That doesn't mean I have time to sit around counting words! Hogan, I don't think you are aware just how much work goes into running a prison camp!"

"Well, get another bookkeeper to do it." He snapped his fingers. "How about that Belgian guy in barracks 11? Sergeant Vanfixionnet – he's a bookkeeper in civilian life, too!"

Klink looked doubtful. "But wouldn't he be biased towards the prisoners?"

"Not likely." Hogan shook his head. "The Belgians have no interest either in the USO or in your Winter Relief Fund. What good would it be to him to sabotage? Besides, the guy's got impeccable references."

Klink sighed. "Alright, I suppose we'll have to trust _somebody_ to do the wordcount. But if the result of his counts is too suspicious for my taste, I will order a recount. But for now whatever this Sergeant Vanfixionnet says about the number of words, goes. If he says it's less than 1000 or more than 4500, then the story won't count."

"Agreed." Hogan got up, but Klink forestalled his departure.

"One last rule: the stories must have a proper plot. Just random thoughts are not eligible for the contest. And neither is it permitted to use text or even lyrics written by others – the story has to be 100% originally written by the prisoners."

"Or the guards." Hogan nodded. "Understood, sir. But ehm... what about poetry? Heaven knows I'm no poetry man myself, but there might be some aspiring poets in the crowd."

Klink perused his letter. "Yes, poetry is allowed, as long as it meets the criteria. So between 1000 and 4500 words, and it has to be a real poem – not just random words."

"Okay. I'll pass the word around, and I leave it up to you to pass the word around among the guards." He grinned. "This is going to be an interesting couple of weeks!" He headed for the door, but suddenly he turned back. "Oh, Kommandant?"

"Yes, Hogan?"

"I do hope you have some paper to spare for us to write on?"

* * *

.

_Author's note: For a more concise version, see Forum XIIIc!_

_And following Hubbles's lead from last year, the proceedings from our stories (5 euro per story that meets all aspects of the challenge (donated by momentarily pretty rich me)) will be spent on practical things from the World Vision online catalogue – to help people in the poorest parts of the world to become independent. As you might remember, last year we wrote enough to get them a pig (named Pork Chop Schultzie) and two chickens (named Felix and Freddy)! Let's see if we can beat that record _:-)_  
_


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